


You say, "Hello," and I lose

by erioel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi is the only functioning adult tbh, Alternate Universe - College/University, American University Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Atsumu is a crybaby, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Ushijima is not stupid and neither is Bokuto, living in dorms sucks, with a side of desperate longing bc this is Atsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erioel/pseuds/erioel
Summary: "Atsumu chokes on his food, mind racing. Shouyou. Hinata Shouyou. Hinata Shouyou is roommate number four. Hinata Shouyou is the owner of the single. Hinata Shouyou, who fucked off to Brazil last semester without so much as a "See ya!" Hinata was going to be living here all year.Before Atsumu can really begin to process this, there's Hinata himself darkening his doorway in all of his five-foot-seven glory. Beaming from ear-to-ear, orange hair shorter than it had been last time Atsumu’d seen him and limned in fire by the late summer sun, with-Oh. Oh, those are tan lines. Those are...certainly tan lines."Hinata returns after a sudden, long absence. Atsumu doesn't deal with it very well, but who's surprised.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 197





	You say, "Hello," and I lose

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not have been borne from a desperate attempt to avoid doing my coursework, and because I miss my trash heap of a college. Any resemblance to any American university may or may not be coincidental. 
> 
> Title is from Lonesome Love by Mitski. Not that it's relevant, but the working title for this was "BARK BARK WOOF WOOF GRRR," so take from that what you will.

It’s the first day of Atsumu’s junior year, and he kinda just wants it to be over already.

For starters, it’s hot as _balls._ He and Bokuto had moved into the nicer, newer dorms this year, enticed by promises of climate control and their own bathroom. The bathroom thing turned out to be true, even if the climate control was a big fuckin’ lie. _Whoever decided that the fall semester should start in August needs their head examined,_ thinks Atsumu, desperately trying to tame his now-frizzy curls, ruined from a day of sweating his ass off. 

Also, the food. It’s a good thing Osamu had ended up going to culinary school instead of going to the state university with Atsumu (like Atsumu had assumed he would, not that he’s still upset about it. It’s been three years. Now he just uses the betrayal to guilt his brother into doing things for him whenever the need arises). He’d be positively horrified with the slop they’re feeding them here. When Atsumu had woken up at 11 and walked down four flights of stairs (because of course the elevators in their _brand new dorm_ , seriously, weren’t working), he got to the dining hall only to find it closed for breakfast, and not ready to serve lunch for another hour. 

What college campus stops serving breakfast at 11? Yes, it’s a weekday. Yes, most people have been awake for hours already, as they had reasonably-scheduled morning classes to attend when the school year started in earnest. But Atsumu the hedonist had taken advantage of his seniority and scheduled all afternoon classes so that he would be able to sleep in. He hadn’t anticipated the need to wake up an hour earlier every day just to get his daily helping of luke-warm sausages and scrambled eggs that smelled vaguely... _fishy_.

Despondently trudging back up the stairs to the suite that he and Bokuto would share with the three other guys who had yet to move in, Atsumu resolved himself to a brunch of some of the fruit his mother made sure to send him up with. But when he got back up to his room (absolutely _not_ panting from exertion, of course), he finds that the bananas his mother sent had turned a little over-ripe, and Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi was taking it upon himself to throw them out before they got fruit flies, presumably. 

“Omi-kun, the fuck are you doin’?” Atsumu asks because wait, why the hell is Sakusa in his suite? He and Bokuto weren’t close enough for him to be invited over, or at least Sakusa didn’t like Bokuto enough to accept an invitation; Bokuto didn’t have it in him to dislike anyone. Besides, Bokuto had gone to see his boyfriend who lived a few floors down before Atsumu had left, so there’s no way Sakusa could’ve gotten in without a card--

Oh. Oh no. The horror of Sakusa being roommate two-of-four dawns on Atsumu, leaving him white as a sheet, as Sakusa proceeds, mask on, seriously, the fuck? he’s in his own living space, to Clorox the shit out the counter, the kitchen sink, the minifridge in the vestibule, the microwave in the vestibule, the door handles, and possibly every surface that has ever come in contact with a human being. 

“Can I help you, Miya? Or are you just going to stand there in my way,” Sakusa deadpans from where he’s methodologically spraying every inch of carpet (at least every inch besides where Atsumu is standing with his jaw on the floor and his eyes as wide as saucers) with an antibacterial spray. Atsumu’s fairly certain that the carpet has been cleaned before, probably right before they moved in, but he doesn’t think mentioning that to Mr. Clean will go over well. Or at all. 

Inching his way back into his and Bokuto’s room, Atsumu tries to come to grips with his new living-arrangement reality. He had known that the random roommate sorting process could go awry, and honestly, it could be a lot worse than Sakusa, but come _on_ , more than a thousand male-identifying undergrads on campus and he got Omi-kun? 

“Yeah, you can help me, asshole. Why didn’t you tell us you’d be living here? You must’ve seen me and Bokkun’s names when you got your assignment. Are ya too good to shoot either of us a text?” Really, Atsumu isn’t upset, more confused. He considered Sakusa a friend or at least a teammate he enjoys setting to on their intramural volleyball team. To only know he’d be living with the guy when he walked into his dorm, pissy and sweaty, was a bit of a shock. 

The unimpressed look Sakusa shoots him could freeze hell. “Why did I have to tell you? Don’t you and Bokuto know how to check the housing portal?”

That was pretty fair. Too bad Atsumu avoids checking any of his important school accounts or information like the fucking plague because it stresses him out. He hasn’t looked at the housing portal since he had chosen Bokuto as his roommate. Atsumu decides silence is probably the better part of valor, in this case, looking away airily and scuffing his sneaker against the linoleum floor, drawing an enraged hiss from Sakusa. 

Ignoring that but filling it away for future Omi-antagonizing reference, Atsumu turns his attention to the other two bedrooms in the suite, a single and a double. He double-takes when he sees the ajar door of the double with Sakusa’s shit sitting in big blue Ikea bags, ready to be put away. What the _fuck?_ The Masked Loner himself, Sakusa Kiyoomi, chose the double? He’ll be living with another person? Like, a living, breathing one? A person that makes messes and who he’ll have to share a shower, and a sink, and _air_ with?

Shell-shocked, Atsumu’s head whips to Sakusa, who’s currently boiling water with an electric kettle, and blurts out “Who the fuck did you agree to live with?” 

Ushijima Wakatoshi chooses that moment, of course, to key his way into the room. He nods at Sakusa with a funny little smile, which is quickly replaced with a vaguely bewildered look when Atsumu throws his hands up, walks straight into his and Bokkun’s room, and slams the door. 

So that’s the roommate situation. For now. He doesn’t want to think about the empty single sitting innocently next door, waiting for its tenant. It’ll probably be Godzilla, or Sadako, or the Devil himself, with the way Atsumu’s luck is going. 

* * *

It’s not Godzilla, and it’s not Sadako. It’s not the Devil, either. It’s not nearly so bad, but in some ways, it’s worse. Atsumu will find that out later, but for now, he’s skating to the gym. If he can _just_ weave through the throngs of confused little freshmen meandering the sidewalks, eyes wide with soon-to-be-lost wonder and innocence, he may even get there before it gets too busy.

An hour and a half of taking his Sakusa-related frustrations out on the treadmill and the benchpress, Atsumu walks into the suite with a carton of takeout from the dining hall for a late lunch slash dinner (Dunch? Linner?). In the vestibule sits a few plastic bins full of clothes and sheets as well as a truly gigantic suitcase outside the closed single’s door. Atsumu supposes the final piece to their dysfunctional little puzzle is moving in and resigns himself to deal with that nightmare later. 

In their room, Bokuto is standing on his bed, stringing up white Christmas lights. Bokkun is a fan of maximalism to no-one’s surprise, and his side of the room reflects it. There’s barely an inch of wall space not covered by some poster or print. Atsumu’s not quite sure how he’s gonna get that past the fire marshall, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Above his bed on the wall was an assortment of postcards and polaroids of him and Akaashi-kun from their summer cross-country road trip. Sitting at Bokuto’s desk scrolling away on his laptop is Akaashi himself. Exchanging nods, Atsumu is gratified to see that Akaashi’s usually artfully tousled waves are looking a little worse for wear, much like Atsumu’s own. Even the perpetually and unfairly stunning are fair game in this war waged by the humidity. 

“What’s up, you two?” asks Atsumu as he flops into his terrible wooden desk chair with a groan, ready to dig into his frankly unappetizing looking sandwich. He briefly contemplates getting started on the reading one of his professors had already assigned, but he already knows that’s not gonna happen. 

Bokuto whirls with a noise of surprise, apparently too busy humming to himself to notice his roommate come in. 

“Tsum-Tsum! There you are! I haven’t seen you all day! Did you see Omi-san and Ushijima-san are living here, too?” They’re bound to get a noise complaint from roommate number four if Bokuto maintains that volume for long. Atsumu sees Akaashi wince, and he’s fairly certain a few trinkets on Bokkun’s desk shook. Bokuto bounces in place on the bed in his excitement, and it groans ominously. Bokuto’s a big guy; Atsumu makes a note to leave a sorry note on whoever lives right below their room. 

Grimacing as he bites into his (cold, soggy) sandwich, Atsumu says, “Yeah, I saw that Omi-kun was making himself right at home. With any luck, Ushiwaka will be able to keep him in check.” 

Akaashi scoffs under his breath at that from across the room, which is fair. Sakusa is a force of antibacterial-spraying nature, and Ushijima’s doting ass was usually content to let him do whatever he wanted. He's honestly pretty damn laid-back for a guy of his size; now that Atsumu is thinking about it, living with Ushijima probably won’t be half bad. 

“Haha, yeah! He gave us a list of dos-and-don'ts for the common space, by the way. Oh! That reminds me! Once Shouyou is all settled in next door, Sakusa said he wants to fill out the roommate agreement together with us all.” 

Atsumu chokes on the bite he had just taken at that, eyes bulging. Akaashi is there with his glass of water, slapping Atsumu's back as he catches his breath and processes through his shock what he's just heard. 

Bokuto said Shouyou, presumably meaning Hinata Shouyou, who is going to fill out the roommate agreement with them later. Hinata Shouyou, the owner of the single. The same Hinata Shouyou who fucked off to Brazil last semester without a word to _anyone_ , not even Tobio-kun, is roommate number four. That Hinata Shouyou _. Jesus Christ._

Before Atsumu can completely come to grips with that as if summoned by his name (and wasn’t there a saying about that, something with the Devil?), Hinata himself chooses that moment to darken their doorway. Beaming from ear-to-ear, orange hair shorter than it had been last time Atsumu’d seen him and limned in fire by the late summer sun, in nothing but a pair of old volleyball shorts and a tank top and--

Oh. Oh, those are tan lines. Those are definitely tan lines, contrasting where Hinata had been turned a gorgeous shade of gold by the Brazilian sun, and Atsumu realizes he is so, _so_ fucked.

* * *

For Atsumu to compare Hinata to the Devil isn’t very fair. Hinata isn’t evil, or cruel, at least intentionally. It’s not as if Atsumu doesn’t like him. Actually, “Atsumu,” “Hinata Shouyou,” and “dislike” don’t even exist in the same realm of existence. Atsumu likes Hinata a lot. A _lot,_ a lot. That’s kinda the problem. 

See, Atsumu had met Hinata the first week of Hinata’s freshman year, and Atsumu’s sophomore year. He was still a little twiggy, and a lot jumpy, so Atsumu really couldn’t be blamed for mistaking him for a high schooler. 

Atsumu, Bokuto, and Sakusa had been on the sand court outside Sakusa’s building, about to start a two-on-two but looking for a fourth player since Akaashi had begged off. Then some random shrimpy red-head was there, apparently having seen the volleyball in Bokkun’s hands and racing over like a heat-seeking missile. 

“Aw, who’s little brother is this? If you lost your tour group, I think I just saw one pass through,” Atsumu laughed as he slung an arm around the orange-haired kid’s shoulders. Shrimpy gave an outraged little _squawk_ at that and shoved Atsumu’s arm off his shoulder. 

He whirled to face Atsumu with a glare that was just a bit too pouty-looking on such a round, young face to do any damage. Cute _and_ stupid, huh. “I’m no one’s little brother. My name’s Hinata Shouyou, I’m a freshman, and I play middle blocker. I know you need another player, so you guys are gonna let me join,” _Hinata_ said boldly; Atsumu couldn’t believe the kid’s guts. His head barely came up to any of their shoulders, and here he was _demanding_ that they let him play. Atsumu wasn’t aware they were even making freshmen that small now. Hinata’s eyes burned with something a little scary and a lot determined, and Atsumu found himself grudgingly intrigued. Who the hell did this pipsqueak think he was?

Unfortunately, Bokuto was already jumping in place with excitement to be able to play, so Atsumu had reluctantly agreed to have the kid play on his side. If he sucked, he wasn’t gonna keep up a farce of a game to spare Shrimpy’s pride, no way. Atsumu didn’t play with scrubs, no matter how cute their tongue looks sticking out of the side of their mouth in concentration like that.

Not expecting much from that first impression, Atsumu sent a set Hinata’s way when they finally started. He could never have expected Shouyou to be there above him, flying, hitting a perfect spike, blotting out the sun with what Atsumu could’ve _sworn_ were great big black wings. What the _fuck?_ When Hinata came back down to Earth, the satisfied little grin he sent Atsumu stopped his heart for a second. 

Needless to say, Atsumu has been addicted ever since, not that it’s hard to get hooked on Hinata. The kid is entirely too forgiving and entirely too likable. Not long after that first game, Atsumu made a point to not go too long without his fix of Shouyou’s addicting laugh, his unending praise, his sweet attention. Maybe he had a problem, and maybe it was kinda weird for a guy to be so obsessed with his best friend like that. But Atsumu had come to terms with his less-than-heterosexual feelings for Hinata, and he honestly couldn’t give a fuck about what anyone might think. After all, who could blame him for falling that hard and that fast, when sending a perfect toss to Shouyou made his heart clench, or when Shouyou’s megawatt smile being sent his way made something in his stomach flutter. 

Atsumu won’t admit it out loud (or to himself, usually), but Shou-kun had filled the sucking void in him that his and Osamu’s diverging paths had created. Shouyou was his best friend, the only friend he’d really made on his own since Bokkun, and the only person who he felt could understand his all-consuming ambition, his hunger for everything. They were both pretty greedy little creatures.

Of course, that made Hinata’s sudden departure to Brazil in the middle of the spring semester that much more devastating. 

The official story had been that there was a family emergency, and Hinata was the only adult in the family able to drop everything and take care of an aunt and some cousins living in Rio. He’d left suddenly, there one day and gone the next, and Atsumu only found out where the _fuck_ he had gone after texting Hinata’s high school best friend, Kageyama. 

Somehow, Hinata had arranged with the school to be able to remotely finish the semester. When all was settled in Rio, he had come back home. Which had apparently been four days prior to move-in, as Hinata tells them all now over dinner. 

Seeing Hinata there, in the flesh, with rice on his stuffed cheeks and gesticulating wildly as he relays a story from his adventure in Rio, is surreal. A couple of months of Atsumu convincing himself that he was _not_ heartbroken, just furious, had also resolved him to the fact that he probably wasn’t going to be seeing Hinata for a while. Hinata’s sudden overwhelming presence kinda threw a wrench in that. Worse, the anger he had been clinging to all this time to distract himself from the ache in his chest was slipping away from him, like water through his fingers. As Atsumu watches Hinata laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners as they always have, he can’t be bothered to get a basin to catch it. 

A nudge at his side startles Atsumu from where he’s been watching Hinata maybe just a _little_ too intensely. Turning to Ushijima next to him, Atsumu raises an eyebrow. 

Ushiwaka just watches him placidly, his stoic face still somehow managing to convey both a question and vague amusement. Atsumu has always gotten the feeling that Ushijima understands more about others than he let on. He’s got a reputation for being a bit too straight-forward and literal, maybe even robotic (as Oikawa loves to say). But Atsumu knows how intelligent, or at least perceptive he is, and Ushijima gets people, in his own way. That’s probably why he gets along so well with Sakusa, and why he’s able to see straight through Atsumu to see the pining wreck at his core. Then again, the guy hadn’t even known that Brazil was on this side of the world, so maybe Atsumu is giving him too much credit.

Atsumu just sticks his tongue out at him and returns to his dinner. Stupid Ushiwaka and his stupid psychic abilities. What did he know? He knew jack-shit _._ How could he? His best friend hadn’t disappeared without a trace, like someone from those crime mysteries Atsumu’s mother loved to watch. He hadn’t finally come to terms with the sucking hole in himself only to have it suddenly filled again with a presence that burned like a sunbeam through a magnifying glass. 

Atsumu had been burned by Hinata Shouyou. He resolves himself to not give up on the feeling those months of uncertainty and anger and _longing_ had left with him. He’s not gonna let Hinata crawl back into his heart and make himself at home again. 

Somehow he doesn’t believe himself, though, as Hinata throws his head back with a laugh, cheeks flushed from Bokuto’s teasing. Ushijima probably doesn’t believe him either, if his mind-reading abilities are working today. 

* * *

To absolutely no one’s surprise, not falling head-over-heels again for Hinata is kinda impossible. 

Atsumu had briefly considered trying the distancing approach before he had remembered that they sorta lived together and would inevitably be seeing a lot of each other. Also, Hinata thrived on being around other people, especially Atsumu who he still considers his best friend (and didn’t _that_ hurt like a sonuvabitch). Trying to keep Hinata out of his room would be like trying to keep Sakusa away from a 50% off sale on Lysol spray. It doesn’t help that Bokuto had never even remotely harbored any hard feelings towards Hinata’s little Houdini act, and is positively _delighted_ to have his favorite underclassman back. 

Right now, Atsumu lies on his bed, trying his damndest to work on his Modern Algebra homework while Bokuto and Hinata watch some dumb video on Bokuto’s laptop together. Did these two ever do _any_ work? _The life of someone not in STEM must be so goddamn easy,_ sulks Atsumu, eyes glazing over from staring at his laptop screen. This semester is already gearing up to kick his ass and it hasn’t even really started yet. 

Then again, the problem probably isn’t school, but rather the sun personified blazing merrily across the room. Maybe the distancing thing’s worth a shot; after all, he doesn’t need to spend all of his time in the room. He’s heard that some people even go to the library to study, although that had never really appealed to him. Too many people and too many distractions. Not that he isn’t getting plenty of both in his room right now, so maybe it’s worth a shot. 

Bokkun and Hinata finally tear their eyes away from the screen in front of them when Atsumu slides off his lofted bed and starts packing up a backpack. 

“Where’re you off to, Tsum-tsum? Did we disturb you?” asks Bokuto with an owlish tilt of his head. Like Ushijima, he’s not blind to other people’s moods. He just tends to only cotton on _after_ he’s already made a nuisance of himself. 

“Nah, s’alright, Bokkun. I just need a change of scenery. I’m gonna go check out the library,” answers Atsumu from where he’s rummaging in his already messy desk for his laptop charger and headphones.  
Suddenly, he hears a solid _thump_ behind him as Hinata jumps off Bokuto’s bed. 

“Oh, crap! I didn’t realize how late it was! I’ve got a _ton_ of reading to get done before tomorrow!” With that, Hinata races out of the room to his own, leaving Atsumu and Bokuto in his dust, bewildered. Before they can even think about processing Tornado-kun Shouyou, he’s back, shoving his feet into a pair of worn Vans simultaneously stuffing his laptop and textbook into his bag. “C’mon, ‘Tsumu, let’s go! I know a great place we can sit, it’s super secluded and no one will walk by and it’s kinda in a corner, so there’s nothing distracting--”

Atsumu is a little dazed at this point. Hinata tagging along with him kinda ruins the point of escaping to the library, although he’d be lying if he said that Hinata knowing his study preferences so intimately and accommodating them doesn’t make him feel kinda warm and tingly. Although maybe that’s just the weather and the funny meat he’d had earlier from the dining hall. 

Before Atsumu can come up with some bullshit excuse as to why he absolutely could _not_ study with his best friend, Hinata is calling to him from the suite doorway, rocking back and forth on his heels, two water bottles in hand. “Atsumu, let’s _go!_ I’ll even buy us iced coffee on the way there, come _on!”_

Well, he’s not gonna say no to that. Resigning himself to an evening of pining over Hinata’s focused studying-face (that damned pink tongue...), Atsumu follows Hinata out the door and into the fading summer afternoon. 

* * *

  
  


So maybe Atsumu should approach this Hinata thing a different way. Distancing himself isn’t working out. Maybe he needs another mind working on this with him. He texted Osamu, who laughed at him, then knocked on Sakusa’s door, who didn’t even answer even though he knew damn well the bastard was home. 

That’s how he finds himself sucking up whatever’s left of his pride, knocking on Akaashi Keiji’s door. His roommate Konoha lets him in, a smirk on his face. Atsumu doesn’t even wanna know what that’s all about, or what Konoha thinks he sees on Atsumu’s face. 

Standing in Akaashi’s doorway, he can see the guy is obviously busy and Atsumu feels a little guilty. He likes Keiji and adores him for how patient and doting he is with Bokuto; the last thing he wants to do is put more stress on the already overworked English Lit student’s head. But these are desperate times, and Atsumu is a desperate man. 

Akaashi finally catches a glimpse of a sheepish-looking Atsumu in the corner of his eye and turns to greet him. Before he can ask why Miya-san is darkening his doorway, Atsumu blurts out;

“I need your help. I need to get over Shou-kun, and I don’t know how. Please, Akaashi-kun, you’re my only hope.” 

If there’s anything Atsumu knows, it’s that Akaashi Keiji is a sucker for Star Wars references. Atsumu feels a little guilty using that line, but what’s a guy to do? 

Akaashi just blinks his pretty green eyes at him a few times; seriously, this guy is really very attractive. If the editor thing doesn’t work out he should just model menswear for a living, Atsumu thinks absentmindedly as the silence after his outburst stretches on and on uncomfortably. 

Akaashi eventually settles on a sigh and fixes him with a steady, narrowed-eyed look. “Miya-san, I’m not quite sure what your problem is. Why would you need to get over Hinata-kun?” asks Akaashi, adjusting his reading glasses, squinting at Atsumu. “He’s finally back and just the same as he was before the left, maybe even better. Shouldn’t you be pleased?” He doesn’t add _“After all, we were all subjected to your whining about his departure for months_ ,” although Atsumu kinda hears it anyway. 

Atsumu leans against the wall, kicking his foot back and forth idly. Akaashi isn't wrong; anyone else would be thrilled to have the object of their affections back after so long and so terrible an absence. 

Atsumu isn't anyone else, though. Atsumu is a greedy, clingy monster who can’t stand change, too blindsided by the last year of his life to look at things rationally. He kinda thinks Akaashi is aware of this, and is just asking to force Atsumu to think about it himself. And Atsumu _has_ thought about it, at length. He _knows_ that Hinata hadn’t left for Brazil with the intent of ghosting his closest friends and the guy secretly (or not so secretly, apparently) holding a torch for him; he _knows_ that it was unplanned, and there were extenuating circumstances, and if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Hinata’s family for saddling a teenager with such a burden. 

However, Atsumu is a highly emotional creature, and despite himself, he can’t take logic or reason into account when he hurts _so fucking bad._

Akaashi probably sees this all in his eyes, or in the sullen look on his face, or in the way his hair is a rat's nest from having fingers run through it anxiously too many times. Or maybe it's the line of his shoulders, or how his cuticles are picked raw from constant worrying. Either way, he just sighs again, quite a bit deeper, and fixes Atsumu with a piercing look. 

“Listen, Atsumu-san. This isn’t something you should be running from, and it’s not something I can help you with. I really think you should talk to Hinata-kun about this.” His gaze softens a bit. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think this is a conversation he would mind having. We can all tell something’s been wrong, and Hinata cares for you deeply. He’d want you to be happy.” With that, Akaashi turns back around. 

Atsumu takes that dismissal for what it is and heads back upstairs to his room in a bit of a daze. 

  
  


* * *

He may not have gotten the answers he had wanted, but Atsumu’s conversation with Akaashi had helped.

It made him realize that, yeah, he hasn’t exactly been subtle about this whole Hinata thing, has he? Now that he thinks about it, even Bokuto has been sending him vaguely concerned looks whenever they got dinner as a group and Atsumu isn’t as loud and abrasive as he usually is. Over the past couple of weeks, Sakusa has been cleaning Atsumu’s mugs and bottles for him whenever he was too lost in a fog of his thoughts to remember to do so himself. But that might also be because Omi-kun won’t live in the same suite as someone who lets himself get sick from improperly cleaned dishes, so the jury’s still out on that one. Osamu has even been texting him back more often (although still not enough), and Kita-san had, out of the blue, called Atsumu the other day to check on him, which Atsumu just _knows_ is Osamu’s doing, the brat. 

All in all, pretty damn humiliating. He doesn’t even wanna consider the implications of Hinata himself knowing. The kid isn’t stupid, or blind, and if Osamu had noticed over the phone from a couple of states away then Hinata _definitely_ has to know something is up. It’s not like he’s said anything or acted any different than Atsumu is used to. Hinata still attaches himself to Atsumu’s side like an orange burr, chatting his ear off when they walk to the coffee shop together or sitting close to him when they hung out with the rest of the guys. Their play hasn’t suffered either; Atsumu and Hinata still make a terrifying duo on the court, mowing their way to the top of the school’s community-divided indoor volleyball bracket. But maybe Hinata _has_ been watching him a little more closely lately, quiet and thoughtful. Atsumu’s not too fond of what that might mean.

Akaashi had also made him realize that this problem wasn’t gonna go away on its own. Atsumu is too useless for that, and Hinata too persistent with his affections, despite Atsumu’s best, albeit ultimately fruitless, efforts. Akaashi is right; Atsumu absolutely _should_ talk to Hinata about this. To get it off his chest, clear the air, kiss (well not really, but kinda hopefully) and make-up, and go on their merry ways, back to how they were. Back to normal. 

He knows that letting this fester and rot is a terrible idea. But as the semester crawls by, Atsumu just can’t bring himself to approach Hinata. He blames it on his classes. He blames it on never finding the right moment, the perfect opportunity. He (reluctantly) blames it on his fear of admitting to Hinata how much he had fucked him up, subsequently driving him away and losing him in the process for realsies. 

(That thought was almost too awful to bear; Atsumu can’t dwell on it too long before he has to get up and take himself for a brisk walk to stop the way his hands shake and his vision blurs.)

So yeah, Atsumu is a wimp, and a coward, and spineless. He knows that. He hates it, too. But he’s not gonna do a damn thing about it. 

  
  


* * *

Fortunately, for Atsumu’s entire friend group at least, Hinata himself takes that decision right out of Atsumu’s hands. 

The oppressive heat of summer had eventually fallen to the cool beauty of autumn. Atsumu had been too distracted to notice when it had itself begun to slip into bitter winter. It’s getting dark a little earlier each day, the wind on his walk to class just on the edge of too sharp, and soon Atsumu is forced to concede his battle with the weather and wear a scarf and gloves whenever he left his building. 

Soon, the semester from hell will be over, and he’ll be done with class, and he’ll play the last tournament for this semester with his team. He’ll go home, to his parents and Osamu’s cooking, and all the comforts of his childhood home. Away from Hinata, and didn’t the thought of _wanting_ to be away from his best friend just kill him? This was getting out of hand. Atsumu has become a bit too exhausted to care, though. 

A long day of classes, followed by _hours_ of studying in the library for a test he probably wasn’t going to do well on, leaves Atsumu feeling like the walking dead as he trudges back up to his room with a cup of chicken noodle soup from the dining hall for a sad little late dinner. 

Keying into his and Bokuto’s room, eyes even more half-lidded than usual, he stops dead in his tracks, staring, when he sees who’s already in there, sitting on his bed. Hinata just looks right back at him, gaze calm and even but just a little too determined for comfort. He’s sorta looking at Atsumu the same way he looks before he takes to the sky for that spooky jump, or before he does something reckless and a little foolish. Atsumu stars to sweat under all his layers. 

“What’s up, Shou-kun? What can I help you with?” laughs Atsumu nervously, eyes shifting to Hinata and away to where he was unraveling his scarf and back again, anxious. He’d give up organs to not be in this situation right now. 

Hinata just kicks his feet a little, taking his time to answer, watching Atsumu hawkishly. Atsumu gets the distinct, unnerving feeling of being a defenseless little bunny, watched by a hungry bird of prey. He looks away from Hinata quickly. 

“What’s wrong with you, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu whips his head around at that, in the middle of unlacing his shoes, eyes wide. Of all the things--

“I’m not sure what you mean, Shou-kun. There’s nothing wrong with me, I feel like a million bucks!” Atsumu is perfectly aware of how unconvincing this is, coming from a guy wearing three-day-old dark bags under his eyes, but oh, well. 

Hinata just gives him that Look, and yeah, fair enough. “Atsumu, don’t play stupid. I know something’s bothering you, and I get the feeling that it’s my fault. You aren’t acting like yourself,” says Hinata, eyes round and pleading. 

Atsumu scoffs at that. “As if you’d know what I’m like anymore,” he mutters under his breath, not trying to hide it. After all, how could Hinata know him anymore? Months of heartache and anger change a person, ya know, and Hinata wasn’t around to see what his time in Brazil had wreaked on Atsumu. And it’s not like Atsumu has been very open with Hinata this semester, too occupied with nursing his own bruised feelings. 

Hinata just stares at him, mouth catching flies. Atsumu has the fleeting impulse to close it, an impulse that’s swiftly squashed. “What? Atsumu, what are you talking about, I don’t know you?” asks Hinata in apparent bewilderment, and Atsumu can’t hold it in anymore, he can’t it hurts so bad, and--

Everything bubbles to the surface, and he kinda explodes. “You left! You left, and you didn’t tell me- you didn’t tell anyone, and I had to find out from _Tobio-kun_ who only found out himself from your _mother_ , that you were gone, and no-one knew when you were coming back! Do you have any idea how that felt? Do you even care?” Atsumu can’t stop himself, even though he knows he should, and it’s honestly a little scary how little control he has right now, but- “And then you come back, and you act like you never even left, and you expect me to be okay with that! Like I’m- I’m supposed to be just _fine_ with my best friend scaring the _shit_ out of me and pretending like nothing’s changed! Well, shit’s changed, Shouyou!” 

Shouyou just gapes, watching Atsumu pace back and forth, hands running through his hair, breath beginning to come in gasps. “Atsumu, I-”

“Shouyou, when you left, I don’t think you know how angry I was. I hid it from you because I know it wasn’t your fault, and that you didn’t think it would affect me so much, but it did. You can’t- you can’t just _leave_ someone like that! That’s not right, you don’t treat the people who love you like that-” Atsumu cuts himself off at Shouyou’s sudden gasp, confused, before he plays back what he just said, and oh, _fuck-_

Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ He shuts his mouth with a snap, blush rising furiously on his cheeks as a matching one rises on Shouyou’s, whose mouth is gaping open and shut like a fish. Silence stretches between them, and by the time Shouyou has gathered his wits enough to say his name, Atsumu is already leaving the room. He ignores Ushijima and Sakusa from where they're poking their heads out of their room, obviously having heard the whole thing. Brushing furiously past a confused Bokuto and Akaashi coming into the suite, he storms down the hall untied shoelaces flapping in his wake, scarf missing, chicken noodle soup entirely forgotten. 

* * *

When Shouyou inevitably finds him an hour later, Atsumu’s wedged himself into the corner of a couch in the dim, deserted student union basement. It’s one of his many not-so-secret bolt-holes, discovered over the past three years and scattered across campus. He’d shown them all to Shouyou last year, all the places he goes when he can’t think straight; when he starts to get overwhelmed and needs to be alone. Atsumu is something of a closet introvert, and Shouyou had accepted that about him. Eventually, he became the one person in this world who Atsumu could stand to be with when he got in one of his moods. 

Before Shouyou left, that was. Now, his stomach sinks like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean when he feels Shouyou’s warmth settle next to him, smells his body-wash, and whatever detergent he uses. 

A couple of minutes spent in tense silence later, Atsumu finally turns to face Shouyou. He’s trying hard to ignore the dried tear tracks on his own face, leaving his cheeks tacky. 

Shouyou turns to him and reaches up to wipe at his cheeks with his thumbs. Atsumu’s eyes flutter shut, breath hitching. He opens them again at a gentle tap to his cheekbone. He imagines what he’ll see in Shouyou’s eyes; disgust, maybe? Or pity? 

He doesn’t expect to see the love he knows are always in his own eyes when he watches Shouyou reflected back at him. Those great big, brown doe eyes dispel every stupid, ridiculous, _asinine_ fear living in Atsumu for the past few months. That Shouyou never cared about him, and that’s why he left. That Atsumu didn’t mean anything to him. That Shouyou could never love him the way Atsumu loves him. 

Atsumu releases a great breath at that, and Shouyou smiles up at him. It’s not the ultra-bright megawatt smile he knows intimately, in excruciating detail. It’s something softer, fonder, and Atsumu can't help but answer it with one of his own, a matching set. 

Shouyou takes Atsumu’s hand from his lap and holds it in his own, finally breaking eye contact to take in the structure of it, the veins and ridges and little marks as he runs his thumb back and forth over the top. Atsumu shivers at that, and Shouyou jumps, mouth in a surprised little “o” before he seems to remember something. He ruffles around in his bag, and before Atsumu knows it, Shouyou is looping Atsumu’s scarf around his neck, tucking the ends into his coat and slipping his hands into a pair of gloves. Atsumu startles when Hinata slides to the ground to tie his shoes, eyes like saucers. Hinata grabs both hands now, standing in front of him, and tugs a shaky Atsumu to his feet. 

They stand there like that, watching each other, still holding hands. Atsumu still isn’t totally sure what’s happening, but he finds he can’t bring himself to care as Hinata drops one hand but keeps his grip firm on the other, leading Atsumu back to their dorm. 

* * *

When they get back, the suite is dark and quiet, the others nowhere to be seen, doors closed. Hinata keys his room open, and tugs Atsumu in behind him. 

Embarrassingly, this is the first time Atsumu’s seen Shouyou’s room, as he’s been making a concentrated effort to avoid seeing it, from seeing any glimpse into Shouyou’s life. He finds that, like Bokuto, Shouyou adheres to the notion of “more is more.” There’s barely any space not covered by pictures, prints, or posters. Atsumu blinks at a picture of Shouyou with two young-ish looking kids, a boy and a girl, and a woman with Shouyou’s red hair. There’s quite a few with these people, usually with a background that, to Atsumu’s admittedly uncultured knowledge, looks Latin American. 

Shouyou comes up next to him, smiling at the picture Atsumu’s focused on of Hinata with one kid hanging off his shoulders and the other in his lap. “My aunt, and my cousins. Lucas is twelve, and Teressa is eight. They look more like their dad,” Shouyou says quietly, but Atsumu still jumps a little. They haven’t spoken a word to each other since-

Atsumu forces his eyes away and lets out a startled sound when he sees the rest of the pictures. There’s _so many_ of them; of Hinata, Bokuto, Sakusa, and Atsumu himself, their volleyball team. Of tanned-looking Brazilian strangers. Of Tobio-kun, of his high school volleyball team, of his little sister, Natsu. But what he’s really surprised by how many there are of _him,_ specifically _._

He and Shouyou, sitting together at a bar table for Atsumu’s birthday, red in the cheeks. He and Shouyou, arms around each other on a volleyball court, sweaty and grinning; a picture he knows Ushijima took because it’s a little blurry. He and Shouyou, passed-out drunk on the quad at two in the morning, taken on what he’s pretty sure is Akaashi’s Polaroid. Everywhere he looks, he sees himself and Shouyou, together, beaming, happy, and finally he gets it. He understands now and feels abashed and a little foolish. 

What would a stranger think, looking at these walls? What would they think he and Shouyou are to each other? Turning to look Shouyou in the eyes, blush rising on his cheeks, he catches Shouyou’s bashful grin, backdropped by a million photos together, and gets his answer.

Shouyou takes his hand again, never breaking eye contact. “Dummy,” he laughs, eyes spilling with adoration from where he has to look up at Atsumu, “You ran out of there before I could say it back.” 

Atsumu just grins back down at him, and he finally feels pretty good. Maybe this semester isn’t so bad, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first HQ! fic, and my second fic ever, so please be kind lol. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Also, thank you Emily for indulging my Atsuhina brain rot and encouraging this; I'll get you back. 
> 
> Also, Sakusa's cleaning habits are absolutely my own. Stay safe, stay healthy, and thanks for reading!


End file.
